The Claws Of The Chimera
by FuriousAbyss
Summary: NOTE: non-canon. The Outbreak in New Mexico is fully underway, with regular forces and the specialist operators from Team Rainbow struggling to contain the virus and it's many forms. But danger does not only come in the shape of the mutated infected sprawling the streets of Truth or Consequences.
1. Prologue

_The Claws Of The Chimera_

* * *

 _Prologue_

* * *

Howling, screeching monsters were close on his heels. He didn't need to look behind to know they were.

In the short time that PFC Marcus Jenkins had spent in Truth or Consequences – or 'Hell Town' as the forces involved in the fighting there had dubbed it – he had quickly learned that the Roaches tended to hunt down and fight their prey until either of them was utterly annihilated.

He also had learned that fighting them on their terms was not a thing a man should do if he wanted to stay among the living.

That's why he was running at the moment.

Jenkins had seen how Parker and Hobbs were torn limb from limb. He had felt the arterial blood spraying over his face when a woman, who now was no longer a woman, had sliced open Clarke's throat with a razor-sharp appendix sprouting from it's shoulder, before impaling her upon it's forearms, which now were just two enlarged, crystalline spikes. Nobody had seen what had grabbed Edwards and dragged him into the darkness of the nightmarish labyrinth of warped hallways and wrecked rooms of the hospital. But they had all heard his screaming and the terrible wet smash that had abruptly ended it.

One of the Roaches had leapt onto him and he had fired his shotgun in panic, but he missed it. Instead, the shot had hit Simmons, who had stood less than two metres away from him, square in the back, almost cutting him in half. The monster had struck out, but Jenkins had stumbled backwards and tripped over a part of someone's body on the floor, dodging the swing more effectively than he could have ever done so consciously.

The claw still had torn away his shotgun and lying on the floor, disarmed and shocked into paralysis, he was mere moments away from getting his thread cut. Suddenly the monster's head was rocked back, it's body shivering, then it collapsed. Sergeant Faison had stopped beside him, roughly pulling him on his feet „Get the fuck up Jenkins, where's your gun?!" he yelled, firing more bursts of his assault rifle into the encroaching horde, felling a few, but there were still many more.

 _So many more._

At that moment, Jenkins had despaired. He had not enlisted to fight mutated zombie-monsters straight out of a child's nightmare in some backwater town in New Mexico. He had enlisted to have a safe job, to help evacuate civvis from hurricanes, scare away demonstrators and raise his chances with the women when telling of his heroic, selfless efforts for the community.

And he certainly didn't want to end up skewered while trying to clear this fucking horror-hospital of Roaches like he was some over-ambitious exterminator. As far as he was concerned, they could fucking keep it.

His feet had moved without him actually thinking about it. He had managed almost twenty paces away from the massacre, back the way they had come into this disaster, when he heard Faison shout „Where the fuck you go-", his voice cut short by a bestial roar.

Jenkins didn't look back.

* * *

He rounded another street corner, immediately turning the other way as he saw two of the creatures that he had heard Faison call 'Grunts' running towards him. Desperately pulling out his MEUSOC pistol, he forced himself to take a moment to aim properly and shot twice, hitting each of the creatures in the chest.

Neither of them even recoiled at the hits.

With growing dread, he noticed that the spots on their bodies where he had hit them turned into a bright shade of glowing red, matching the colour of their crystalline outgrowths. As if all his shots had done was to provoke his adversaries to grow some more exo-armour.

 _Fuck this._

He broke into a run towards some small grocery store, through which's shattered windows he could see an open backdoor. As he dove through the remnants of the showcases he grunted, feeling the glass slice open his cheek, letting his blood mingle with that of Clarke on his face. Racing between and over toppled shelves, he reached the backdoor just when the shattering of yet more glass told him his pursuers were inside as well.

He rushed through the door and quickly pushed it closed again, looking around in frantic search of something to block the door with. _There._ A large garbage container, obiously filled to the brim.

The adrenaline lent him the strength to move it in front of the door, then he engaged it's brakes, hoping for it to buy him some time. He heard guttural sounds from the other side of the door, then something smashed into it, repeatedly. Both the door and the container moved visibly.

He shook his head in disbelief, but he knew, this time there would be no saviour coming if he froze in place again, so he got moving again.

Barely half way he made it along the street, then he was brought face down again, tripping over something on the ground he had obviously missed in his tunnel-vision.

No, in fact something had _ensnared_ his leg. He yelped hoarsely, trying to pull his leg free. It felt as if his leg was entangled in a sling of barbed wire, but _holy shit_ – it felt like this barbed wire was alive! The living rope crawled up his leg, stinging through his boots and pants and hooking into his flesh.

Finally, Jenkins turned around and saw what had got him.

He took a breath to scream.

* * *

 _As the title says, this is the prelude to a story about the Outbreak event featured in Rainbow Six: Siege's Operation Chimera. Unlike my BlitzxIQ story i will publish this one split into several chapters and see if it works out any better, worse or no different at all than the all-at-once-approach. I'm still quite a newbie at writing fics and i appreciate all your support regardless of it's form, you guys are awesome :)  
_


	2. Signs and Portents

„What the hell do you think you are _doing_ here?!", General Ackerson raged as he smashed his fist down onto the table. „You and your _troupe_ of prima donnas, coming and going without deigning to inform me, coordinating none of your operations with ours, freely using our supplies. And now you want to tell me how to do my fucking job?!"

While outwardly appearing completely neutral, Eliza „Ash" Cohen inwardly sighed. This jackass surely didn't even come close to the worst wankers she had been forced to work with or under in her career.

But that didn't stop him from trying.

„General, my team of _specialist operators_ does as I order them. And in order to achieve their overall mission objective, I trust in their respective expertise to do what is necessary. So I'd prefer if you could voice your concerns about their performances to me in the future", the projected image of Six replied, coolly and unimpressed.

 _Yeah, stop bitching at my operators and let them do their fucking job_ , Ash translated into plain english.

„About their operations I can tell you, that they are planned based on the intel provided by your intelligence division. If my team failed to inform you about them moving out, that's simply because most of these operations are set up and executed to strike at an opportunistic weakness our enemy has revealed."

 _Like, if you don't bother to read your own damn paperwork, why would we waste our time explaining you something you should already be knowing?_

„'Opportunistic weakness', bullshit", Ackerson growled „We should just pull out all forces from inside the quarantine zone and finish this. Nothing left to save there. Yet you keep wasting time, ammunition and fuel trying to show off and advertise your Rainbow program."

 _Oh man.._

She had heard rumours that Ackerson was not exactly the most enthusiastic supporter of Rainbow. In fact, he had vehemently protested, calling the whole project a 'reduntant waste of resources', reasoning that all countries actually in need of a Counter Terrorism Unit already had one for themselves. And those without one could – of course – always rely on the heroic US of A to save them.. for a price.

 _Such a narrow-minded, high-handed prick._

„The objective of my operators is to resolve this situation without the further loss of human life. You know as well as I do, that retreat is no longer an option at this point. With so many forces already engaged in combat, a withdrawal from Truth or Consequences would result in heavy, potentially even total losses. Now that we have fully commited, the most viable strategy is to further analyse our enemy, understand how to defeat him and then destroy him. I believe, that releasing Dr. Mackintosh was a major step towards defeating the parasite, her first-hand knowledge about the infected will prove invaluable for our efforts. That's worth a few crates of ammunition and some fuel, don't you agree?"

 _Ouch. Please, Six. Not sure if he can handle any more. Or if I can, before I burst into laughter. A shame Jordan doesn't get to witness this, he'd love every second._

„Sure, whatever. I'm sure your _operators_ will keep you informed about our progress", he grumbled before he terminated the transmission.

For a few long, awkward moments nobody said anything, not Ash, not the general and none of his staff of aides.

Then Ackerson's head jerked up, fixing his cold gaze upon her. „You. Dismissed. Get out.", waving her away with his hand.

„Yes, Sir!" she replied smartly, and with no small amount of relief quickly left the command tent.

* * *

When the army field surgeon had tried to stop him from entering the hospital tent, Gustave „Doc" Kateb had almost laughed in the man's face. After he had calmly explained himself and a few minutes on the radio the medic apologised, his face blushed in deep red, letting him pass.

Walking through the almost empty rows of cots, he wondered if there really were so few wounded from the frequent clashes inside the quarantine zone; he remembered well the chaotic fury of the fighting to escape the hospital. Then again, he knew the Roaches seldomly did things half-way and that the terrible wounds they inflicted upon the often times poorly equipped soldiers left their medics with no real alternative than to watch on helplessly.

A memory pushed to the surface, intense and overwhelming-

 _The stench inside the hospital was awful, stomach-turning. It went through his mask unfiltered, forcing him to breathe flatly through his mouth. Even for a hardened combat medic like him, who was used to the distinctive battlefield smell of blood, fear, intestines and men sullying themselves in their death throes, it soon became too much and he had to switch to the internal air supply of his suit, lest he vomit into his mask._

 _He was sweating heavily under his armour and hazmat suit, his breath and heartbeat pounded in his ears, drowning out almost all other sounds from his surroundings. The taclights mounted on their weapons barely penetrated the strange mist in the building for more than a few metres. Sure, the light attracted the roaches, but the alternative was to advance into the dark and walk right onto them, giving away the precious few moments of warning that the light offered them now._

 _From the walls, the floor, the ceiling, everywhere the dark, red glowing spikes sprang forth, ever threatening to pierce the reinforced, customised suits of an unwary operator and slowed them down even more in their cautious advance._

 _Then suddenly, they were there._

 _A screeching cry the only warning you get, then they leapt out of the darkness onto you, stabbing and slashing with wild abandon and no thought for their own survival._

 _Always fighting with one eye at your own back, the other at your team mates._

 _And when they came, they came in numbers._

 _Of the squad that command had mentioned to have been sent here to secure the site earlier, there was no sign. At least not until they encountered a heavy sealed door. Several corpses of roaches were spread in front of it, one of them was just shoulders and a head, smashed and severed by the massive portal it had tried to get through. Bullet holes at the door and the wall beside it indicated at least one of the squad had gotten this far._

 _The bodies were the worst part. In death, the strange, warping influence of the parasite released the grip on it's victims and left them as they were in life, as ordinary humans. After each wave of roaches that they had broken, it always seemed to him as if they had massacred unarmed, helpless civilians instead of bloodthirsty, mindless monsters._

 _He could have sworn that the parasite did this on purpose, to gnaw on their – especially his own - resolve._

 _Sébastien had noticed a trail of bodies, blood and spent bullet casings leading down a side hallway. Following the grisly tracks, they had found a small security room with three more dead roaches inside._

 _And a human body._

 _The soldier was leaned against a console, sitting in a pool of blood. That it was his own was beyond doubt, considering the gouging wounds on his torso and his shattered arm._

 _Gustave had carefully approached the console and examined if it could open the blocked door._

 _Then the body had quietly groaned, making the three operators almost jump in shock. He had quickly kneeled beside the wounded, placing his hand gently on the man's shoulder who had weakly tried to reach for his pistol. „It's alright sergeant, help is here", he had said with the practised calm of one used to the sight of terribly injured men. "Jenkins.." the soldier wheezed. He coughed out blood and it slowly dripped from the corner of his mouth on the collar of his kevlar vest. „..you seen him?" His eyes fluttered open and his delusional gaze found the medic's face._

„Non _, we have not seen anyone except you. Now hush, don't speak" Gustave had replied, trying to assess which of his wounds was the most urgent._

„ _The stupid kid.." Faison – Gustave could barely read the name on his blood-drenched vest – whispered „..barely got out myself.. never seen one like that befo-gnnn", he moaned as the french operator pulled away the torn fabric of the vest to see that Faison's ribcage was practically ripped open, blood flowing freely from his body. The medic in him knew that the fact there was so little blood leaking from such a dreadful wound was no good sign and he frantically tried to think of a way to stop the bleeding in time. „Sealed the big bastard inside.. couldn't save any of'em..", his voice trailed off._

 _Doc pulled out his scissors to cut away the remnants of the vest and gain better access to the wound-_

„ _Gus..", Jordan said softly. He ignored the texan and grabbed for some bandages._

„ _Gus." he repeated and placed a hand on his shoudler „What?", the medic snapped, his head jolting around towards his team mates. „He is dead. Leave him be.", Sébastien said, quiet but insistent._

 _He looked back at the sergeant. Faison's head rested on the collar of the vest, as if he had fallen asleep. Gustave held the scissor blades in front of the man's mouth and nose, but it didn't mist._

 _He got up with a resigned sigh. Too many men and women he had seen pass well ahead of their time, but he was relieved to realise that the constant exposure had not managed to dull him over the years._

 _His gaze fell upon a button with a bloody hand print and the label 'West Hallway 2F'. Anger welled up in him and he gripped his shotgun tighter._

„ _Prepare yourselves."_

„-cuse me Sir, are you feeling unwell?"

He pulled himself together with visible effort, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. A young woman in a white coat stood before him, concern overshadowing her attractive features. He heard a clinking of metal and noticed that he had used an operating table for support when his knees had threatened to give in, scattering the delicate surgical tools. Embarassed by his absentmindedness and dizzy spell, he couldn't hold the gaze of her bright green eyes and looked down, murmuring his apologies. He wiped his forehead clear and crouched down to collect the tools from the ground.

„Oh no, don't bother, it's no problem really", she said and quickly joined him, making the situation even more uncomfortable for him.

When they had finished rearranging the table he managed to meet her eyes again, mumbling a sheepish „ _Merci_ ", his face blushed a deep red. The wide, genuine smile she gave him made him feel a little more at ease „Sure, anytime", then after a few seconds of silence she added „Are you okay?"

 _This must be an american thing, always asking „Is everything okay?"_ , he mused.

„Yes, thank you" he replied with a half-hearted smile. After another few seconds of her intently eying him, she asked „You have been out there, don't you? In the town?"

It took every bit of his willpower not to slide off into his horrible memories again, as he simply nodded, his throat too tied up to form words. Fearing more questions that might push him over the edge again, he was about to excuse himself and turn away-

She gently placed her small hand on his forearm, pinning him in place as if Seamus and Gilles had grabbed him at the same time.

„There is nothing to be ashamed of. It is just natural to feel fear in the face of what you must have seen. That doesn't mean you are weak, far from it. It only makes it more admirable that you didn't yield, but braved it"

Her soft, yet utterly convinced voice soothed him in a way he hadn't realised he needed – he simply was so used to that _he_ was the one comforting others. She exposed all the self-doubt, grief and concern that had pent-up in him over the last weeks and dismantled them as if they'd never been there to haunt and deprive him of his sleep.

He finally managed to meet her gaze again, her expression a mix of sadness and concern „You shouldn't have to face this horror. No one should. It's not _fair_ " she sighed „But we _need_ you to fight it, because I fear that no one else _can._ "

He took her hand off his forearm and held it firmly in both his hands, softly squeezing it as he was struggling for adequate words to express how grateful he felt for her words – for as simple as they seemed, to him it felt as if she had lifted a bleak veil from his mind that kept him from doing more than to simply _function_.

In the end, all he managed out was a heartfelt „ _Merci"_ and the most genuine smile he had given anyone in seemingly ages.

„You're more than welcome, doctor..?"

„Gustave Kateb. And I have the pleasure with..?"

Before she could answer, an insisting _beep_ from her belt prompted her to reach for the device, quickly reading and then switching it off.

„Alicia Mendez. I'm sorry doctor, I have to answer this. You know how it is.." she winked at him „If you feel like talking some more, feel free to meet me here anytime!" He sheepishly nodded, completely taken aback as she flashed him one last smirk, before she turned to leave. Then his brains reported back for duty, urging him to say _something_ at least-

„Sure, I'd like that" he called after her.

* * *

Upon leaving the command tent, Eliza suddenly felt the overwhelming need to have some time on her own, the prospect of being with her fellow operators – even with Jordan – and being squeezed out for information about the briefing anything but appealing.

As she wandered around the base aimlessly with her thougths doing the same, her mind seemed to always go back to the briefing, practically nudging her onto it.

Six' words echoed through her mind, and even though the praise of her team _was_ justified, it also was a heavy burden, especially on Eliza's shoulders. And while they weren't exactly buddies with their commanding officer, there was a great deal of professional respect for each other, and if there was one thing that Eliza hated more than anything else, it was disappointing those that put their trust in her.

So, despite her killing exhaustion and overall frustration, she forced herself to think the briefing and their general situation through, _again_.

Yes, simply 'pulling out' troops from such deeply entrenched positions was not going to work. After all, the only reason these troops were still alive was because of their reasonably defensible positions. Evacuating them by APC and IFV escorts wouldn't work either, for the same reason that they had not simply crushed the roaches already, 'shock-and-awe'-style with tanks and everything:

The strange, massive spikes piercing the ground virtually everywhere stalled the advance of any tracked or wheeled vehicle column. Their alien, crystalline nature withstood most regular-issue cutting gear of the pioneers for quite a long time, and even if they managed to clear a path, drive their attack home and successfully stir the storm, the way back would become the real problem: Those spikes simply grew back too fast to get out in time. They would be trapped, with roaches advancing from all around, the narrow streets offering not enough space to bring to bear their superior ranged weapons and they would quickly be overrun and slaughtered.

Until the customised breacher tanks would be forthcoming, there would be no easy steam-rolling the bugs.

And while airborne extraction actually was possible, the forces inside the town were so completely scattered that they would require to be picked up piecemeal. But if the parasite had shown them one thing, then that it was adaptable: It would not simply sit idle while they got their men out, and they couldn't afford to risk their precious few helicopters.

Only now she realised that while she was roaming around the base completely lost in her thoughts, her feet had carried her all the way up the central observation platform. She lighted a cigarette, took a deep drag and leaned against the railing, letting her gaze wander over the town in the distance. No one else was up here at such a late hour and she allowed herself a tired, resigned sigh.

 _Fuck, I really could use some good, restful sleep. Any sleep without nightmares, actually._

The night sky was draped in clouds and only the many fires in the town lightened the darkness. A light breeze stroke over her face and red hair, carrying the faint rumbling of their distant artillery firing another barrage into the stricken town. She saw buildings erupt into blossoms of fire, crumbling under the heavy ordnance like a house of cards, sending clouds of dust into the strange fog hanging over the town at all times.

As much as she hated to admit – and she would never do so within earshot of him – she agreed with Ackerson: There was nothing left to save here.

After they had rescued Dr. Mackintosh, the governor of New Mexico had voiced his concerns that there could still be more survivors.

A legit hope it would seem, except that the coward was simply shitting bricks at the possibility of someone to survive them torching the town and decry him as an uncaring murderer.

She took another angry drag from her cigarette.

They had thoroughly searched and scanned the whole town, every hideout, every small hiding hole, no matter how unlikely – they had turned it all upside down. They had risked much and sacrificed no small amount of time and lifes better used elsewhere to soothe that idiot, with the hardly surprising result:

There wasn't a single soul left in Truth or Consequences not lost to the parasite.

The town itself was in ruins too; a hazardous, bio-chemical wasteland after weeks of ceaseless bombardment and airstrikes, the very earth and air poisoned by the alien influence to the point that it now resembled a landscape more at home on some strange, far-flung planet, but definitely not on Earth.

So.. even if they managed to defeat the parasite without razing it all to the ground in the process – something that Eliza seriously doubted in her most private thoughts – rebuilding the town would always pose a risk of the nightmarish threat returning.

Eliza had to fight the suddenly surfacing thought that _**this place no longer belonged to them and that they were the intruders, not the Swarm-**_

 _-huh, what?! Where had_ that _come from?_ She resolutely shook her head clear and as quickly as the tought had appeared, it was gone again.

Just another symptom of her exhaustion and the generally low morale in the camp, probably. After all, no army - no matter how well trained and disciplined - was simply going to stomach defeat after defeat without it having an effect on it's performance eventually.

She let her head lower and buried her face in her hands.

 _We just have to hope Gus was right about the doctor. If she can't deliver something useful.. Jordan might get to see his idea of nuking the town become reality. He's forever gonna rub it in my face with that shit eating grin „I fuckin told you so 'Liza!" And I wouldn't even be able to argue with it.._

* * *

She had not turned around to look at him yet. In fact he wasn't even sure whether she was deliberately ignoring him or just so absorbed by her work that she hadn't noticed him.

After another few moments of standing in the door frame in silence, only disturbed by the scraping of her pencil and the occasional shuffling of papers, Gustave cleared his throat

„Permission to come in, _Madame_?"

Her head snapped up and in his direction, the scared expression on her face vanishing so quickly that he wasn't sure if he'd actually seen it.

„Ah, Gustave. Hello, come in."

„ _Pardon_ , Ellen. I didn't mean to spook you" She waved dismissively in his general direction, her gaze already focused back on the screen of her laptop.

He entered the room, his eyes glancing over the numerous tables, instruments and tons of paperwork spread all over the lab.

In the center of all this strangely ordered chaos sat Ellen Mackintosh in front of a table hopelessly overloaded with all kinds of reports, diagrams and images. One of her arms was still rested in a sling, but with the other she frantically scribbled notes on a small notepad.

He rested his hand on the back of her chair „How is your arm? I've heard you were giving the medic a hard time patching you up to your satisfaction" he said with a light chuckle.

She rolled her eyes „If you want something done properly, you've got to do it yourself. That's just how it is"

He eyed her more closely: She looked very exhausted, but at the same time almost _driven_ , completely focused on her work.

She quickly glanced up, her look almost irritated „Was there something I can help you with, Gustave?"

Her demeanour somewhat confused him, but he maintained his smile „I wanted to look after you, foremost", he hesitated „Did you actually get any sleep since you're back?"

With an annoyed sigh she looked back at her notepad „ _Sure_.." she mumbled under her breath.

 _We just hauled her out of a living nightmare, be patient_ , he reminded himself. But still, her rejecting air made him feel somewhat lost for words.

Another few moments of awkward silence later he gave up on trying to force himself through to her for now and went for a change of plan, as he rather matter-of-factly added „And while I'm at it, I wanted to check on your progress with the cure.. and offer my help in case you needed any."

She snorted incredulously „A _cure_..", her words almost inaudible.

„Excuse me? I didn't understand, what were you saying?"

„I said, there is no progress towards a cure" she stated bluntly.

Her words hit him as if she had slapped him. He remembered well how he had fervently defended his approach with Eliza, convinced that this would _work_ , that Ellen would have an idea how to stop this horror..

„But.. you've been on this since the initial outbreak. And now since you're here.. how can I hel-"

„Gustave!" she cut him off with a snarl, finally turning to face him and he recoiled at the cold, steely gaze of her eyes „I already guessed that you wouldn't want to hear it."

„Ellen.. what are you talking about?"

„I am not working on a cure. There is none."

 _This just can't be true._

Hope is a fickle thing.

It builds you up as readily as it lashes back at you, leaving in ruins what you held onto, believing it to be as firm as a rock.

In that moment, Gustave felt his hope of saving the people of Truth or Consequences, of a quick end to the nightmarish bloodshed, shatter under the shock of Ellen's indifferent words. His throat suddenly felt dry and his stomach cramped, a cold weight in his guts.

„How can you _know_ that" his voice barely above a whisper „There has to be something we can _do_.."

„Of course you'd say that" she sneered „You've never been one to open your eyes for reality unless you absolutely had to."

He stumbled backwards, the implications of her revelation almost unbearable for him. His eyes flickered over the files on the tables and he started to frantically read, searching desperately for.. _anything_ , a display of utterly helpless, aimless activity.

At first he didn't realise what he was actually looking at, the words passing through his mind without causing a reaction. Only when he found a file with several gruesome pictures on it and he stopped to re-read some of the related documents a dreadful suspicion dawned on him.

The more he read of it, the more he wanted to step back and never look at it again, but he felt like he had to force himself through this.

 _Vivisections, experiments on live specimens, deliberate infections.._

He turned towards her, his voice hardly masking his shock „What is _this_ , Ellen?"

She looked up from her work, as if she had completely forgotten he was still there. He held out a few files with unmistakable images on it.

If he had expected regret, or even embarrassment, he'd have been disappointed.

The flat stare she gave him was so uninvolved, so utterly devoid of emotion that he instinctively took a step away from her.

„That's no cure, but the closest I am to a _solution_."

„What have you _done_ Ellen.." he whispered appalled.

„I did what's necessary."


End file.
